


Coals to Ashes

by cabbagespoon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Vomiting, Whump, concussion, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-09-13 22:06:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16900680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabbagespoon/pseuds/cabbagespoon
Summary: A collection of Keith centric whump drabbles. Heavy-handed Sheith.





	1. Chapter 1

**_Shiro finally goes to visit Keith. It’s been a rough week for these boys. Just some post S7 Sheith, ‘cause they’re all I think about these days…_ **

 

It’s a shock, at first, seeing Keith.

He’s lying in bed, so pale and still. He shouldn’t look like that. Shouldn’t look so fragile. It’s all wrong.

Shiro stands just outside Keith’s hospital room, unsure of what he’s waiting for. He blows out a steadying breath and scrubs his fingers through his bangs. He’s so tired. The past few weeks have demanded more of him than he honestly had left to give. He’s been running on bad coffee and prayers for longer than is probably wise. The speech drained the last of his energy and he can feel his body slowly shutting down on him, begging him for rest.

But he refuses to sleep. Not until he makes sure. He _has_ to see him.

If he lost Keith…

Shiro stubbornly halts that train of thought. He isn’t doing himself any favors.

Keith makes a small, sleepy noise, legs shifting restlessly beneath the covers. Shiro feels his lips quiver with the barest trace of a smile, feels his chest swell with a warm, aching fondness. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat and quietly steps the rest of the way inside.

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice is slow and thick, like honey dripping over a spoon. “Hey, Captain,” he smiles groggily through the haze of drugs.

“Hey, yourself,” Shiro answers, smiling back at him through the blur of welling tears.

Keith stares for a few long moments, taking in every inch of him, assessing the damage. It should make Shiro uncomfortable, but it only makes his heart beat faster, blood pumping so furiously it makes him dizzy.

Keith frowns, forehead crinkling in concern. He doesn’t like what he sees. “Come’ere,” he says softly, reaching out a hand towards Shiro.

Shiro gulps, clenched fist trembling at his side. He doesn’t want to think about how close he came to losing everything.

“Shiro,” Keith urges, gentle yet insistent, understanding what Shiro needs even if he doesn’t quite know himself.

Shiro obliges, shuffling the last few steps and sinking down on the edge of Keith’s bed, careful not to jostle him.

“You’re looking a little better,” Shiro observes brightly, diverting attention while he struggles to get a grip.

“Yeah?” Keith huffs out a tired laugh. “Well, I feel like crap on toast.”

Shiro swallows, feels something squeeze inside his chest. “I — I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I wanted to be.”

“S’okay,” Keith hums, letting his head fall back against the pillows. “Between Mom, Kolivan, and Coran, a guy can only take so much hovering.”

He’d meant it as a joke. Shiro knows that. But his chest still feels funny, clenching with a longing ache he’s powerless to quell. “R-right,” he stutters, still doing his best to smile.

“Hey,” Keith catches his chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently tilting Shiro’s face down to meet his eyes. “I’ve missed you.” His eyes are soft, staring up at Shiro like they’re the only two beings in the universe, like Shiro is all that matters.

Shiro can’t take it any longer. He reaches up to hold Keith’s face in his hands, leaning in to press a fervent kiss to Keith’s forehead. Then another, more gently against his lips. He feels Keith tense for a moment before he relaxes, smiling against Shiro’s mouth before returning the kiss. There’s so much warmth and calm and Shiro can feel an invisible weight lifting, something he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying. He doesn’t ever want to let Keith go.

When Shiro finally pulls away, he’s lightheaded, on the verge of tears for the third fucking time in ten minutes. He rests his forehead against Keith’s, craving the contact so badly he can taste it. “I’m so happy you’re here,” he manages.

Keith reaches up to run his fingers through Shiro’s bangs. “You’re shaking,” he frowns, chewing at his bottom lip.

Shiro’s voice quivers when he laughs, a single rogue tear slipping down his cheek. He doesn’t have the energy to wipe it away.

“Shiro? Look at me,” Keith urges, rubbing the back of his knuckles over Shiro’s cheek to catch the tear. “Are you okay?”

Shiro’s shoulders jerk with another tremulous laugh, “I’m not the one in the hospital bed.”

“Hey,” Keith insists. “I’m being serious.”

Cornered with nowhere to run, Shiro deflates. He sniffs and slumps forward, surrendering his dignity into Keith’s shoulder.

“I just —“ he stutters, trying to inhale without crumbling to pieces, “I just really missed you…”

“I know,” Keith breathes into Shiro’s hair, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him in close. “Me too.”

“It’s been a long week,” Shiro sighs, voice muffled in Keith’s shirt.

“Yeah.”

Shiro startles when someone bustles through the door. He immediately sits up, wiping at his eyes and running a hand through his disheveled hair. Keith snorts at his valiant efforts. He’s hopeless.

“Good to see you awake,” the orderly smiles. He’s a little older, probably one of only half a dozen the garrison has left to spare. He walks with a noticeable limp, which would explain why they aren’t utilizing him in the field. He nods politely at Shiro before setting down a tray of food and busying himself checking Keith’s vitals.

“How’s the pain?”

Keith clears his throat. He’s barely spoken above a whisper since he woke up and suddenly his throat feels too dry. “…’s fine,” he croaks. “Head still kinda hurts, though.”

The man nods, tightening a strap on Keith’s arm to check his blood pressure. “Mm, concussions’ll do that. I’m going to give you another round of meds before I leave. They should get you through the night and help with the headache.”

“Thanks,” Keith hisses softly when the man replaces his bandage.

“But you should try to eat something,” he tilts his head, indicating the tray he brought. “This heavy duty stuff doesn’t tend to sit so well on an empty stomach.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Shiro promises, looking far too serious for Keith’s liking.

“You’re staying?” he asks, looking a little surprised.

Shiro nods.

“Okay, then.” The man shrugs, administering something into Keith’s IV. After a few seconds Keith’s eyelashes flutter, limbs relaxing as the drug begins working through his bloodstream.

The orderly packs up his instruments and pauses beside Shiro, speaking a little quieter. “Make sure you get something in him before he passes out. He’s been running on empty for almost twenty-four hours.”

Shiro rests his hand briefly on the man’s shoulder, a silent gesture of thanks.

When they’re alone again, Shiro walks over to inspect the tray. There’s a steaming bowl of broth and noodles, a piece of fruit and a bottle of water. He picks up the bowl and a spoon.

Keith wrinkles his nose when Shiro reclaims his spot on the edge of the bed, bowl balanced in his Altaen hand and spoon poised in the other.

“M’not really hungry.” He’s slurring again, looking like he’s about two slow blinks away from dozing off.

“Sorry,” Shiro tsks. “Doctor’s orders.”

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith groans dramatically. “You’re not seriously going to spoon-feed me. I can hold a goddamn bowl—“

“Shut up and let me take care of you,” Shiro interrupts calmly, dipping the spoon into the broth. “Just try a few bites, okay?”

Keith can’t even hold the pout, not against the onslaught of Shiro’s earnestness. But he still manages a small disgruntled noise before rolling his eyes and opening his mouth to accept the bite.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles around a mouthful of noodles.

There’s a little smirk tugging at the corners of Keith’s lips when he swallows. Shiro can feel himself blushing and quickly diverts his gaze. He positions the bowl underneath Keith’s chin to catch anything that drips, concentrating on spooning the soup to Keith’s lips.

After a few more mouthfuls, Keith’s starting to struggle. He can barely keep his eyes open.

“Mm, Shiro?” he murmurs, throat bobbing around a thick swallow. “I — I think I’m done.”

“You’ve barely touched it,” Shiro frowns, already waiting with the spoon.

Keith gulps hard again, but he leans forward to take the bite. He licks the residual broth from his lips and swallows, closing his eyes in concentration.

“Keith?” Shiro freezes, watching the color drain from Keith’s face. “You good?”

He tries to nod, tries to relax. But when he opens his mouth a small belch slips out, immediately followed by the last mouthful of broth. It splashes back into the bowl and spatters Shiro’s hand.

“Woah, okay…” Shiro quickly trades out the bowl for a metal basin resting beside the bed. “Yeah, I think you’re done.” He rubs a hand down Keith’s back, holding the basin below his chin with the other.

Keith coughs and spits up a little more of the broth before finally collapsing back against the pillows, exhausted.

“Ow,” he groans, gingerly lifting a hand to his bandaged head.

Shiro clicks his tongue sympathetically, wiping Keith’s mouth and chin with a cloth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you.” He feels horrible. Keith had only been trying for him.

Keith peels open one eye to squint up at him. “Shiro?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

Shiro snorts around a watery smile.

Keith rolls onto his side and stretches out his hand, fingers grazing over Shiro’s thigh. “Come lay down?”

“I—“ Shiro starts to protest.

“Jus’ for a little while.” Keith’s eyes are already drooping, mouth going slack. But he finds Shiro’s hand and locks his fingers, holding their entwined hands loosely against his stomach.

Shiro brushes a strand of dark hair out of Keith’s eyes, then he carefully slides in behind him. Keith is so warm. He fits perfectly against Shiro.

He closes his eyes, breathing in Keith’s scent, savoring his presence, and sinks further into the pillows.

Outside, the sun is just beginning to set, casting sleepy shadows across the corners of Keith’s room. He can see the first couple of stars flickering into existence. He wonders if he’s seen them before.

There’s so much to do and not enough time. He’s already been gone too long—

Keith reaches back to stroke Shiro’s forearm, fingers tracing a gentle rhythm over his skin. His breaths are deep and even, expanding reassuringly against Shiro’s chest.

Shiro exhales slowly, following his pattern, allowing Keith to lead him. Allowing his mind to rest.

Shiro needs this. He’s needed this for a long time.

But Keith already knew that.

****


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snapshot of an imagined moment before the Kerberos mission.

It was only a few seconds.

A few seconds of warmth and comfort and the promise that everything would be all right.

Strong arms that held solid around his back and a gentle kiss pressed against his shoulder, holding on until he felt the scrutinizing eyes boring into their backs.

He was the first to let go. And he knew he would always regret that act of cowardice.

He’d spent a long time with this boy. He knew all of the weird quirks and stupid movie references and annoying habit of worrying himself sick over exams he ended up acing, anyway. His frustrating insistence on judging everything in indisputable algorithms of black and white with no room left for areas of gray.

But he also knew what made the older boy laugh. The late night study sessions nestled inside the barracks. Crude jokes and brain dead, short-circuiting bouts of delirium that coaxed forth conversations about what the future held and the men their pasts had molded them into. The endless possibilities of what might happen tomorrow. The marvelous uncertainty.

This man was his confidant, his brother. His best friend.

And now he was leaving.

Keith couldn’t put together the words he wanted to say as they pulled away from each other. The older boy had insisted on a hug goodbye.

“I won’t see you for a few months,” he’d said.

So Keith had obliged, blinking water out of his eyes, and so very desperate not to care.

He couldn’t tell the other boy that he was scared. Couldn’t say those things people usually say to loved ones when they’re heading off somewhere they shouldn’t be.

If he opened his mouth, something stupid would spill out without his permission.

He couldn’t tell the other boy how much he would miss him. Couldn’t tell him to be safe and careful and please don’t do anything stupid. Don’t be a hero.

Because saying things like that would betray just how much he cared. How scared shitless he was to let the other boy go. Keith wasn’t supposed to care. He’d spent a lifetime building walls and convincing himself that _he did not care._

Caring was a weakness. Caring got you in trouble. Got you killed.

So he tightened his grip, fingers tangling in military-issued fabric as he held on for just a moment longer. Then forced himself to pull away, swallowing hard and ignoring the foreboding, gut-wrenching ache warning him that everything was about to change. That nothing could ever be as it had once been.

Warning him to keep those memories safe and sacred, because the opportunity to make more had come and gone.

There was so much he wanted to say. And he knew he never would. He didn’t say things like that. It wasn’t what people had come to expect of him.

And so he would stay silent, wondering if the other boy knew all of the things he wanted to say.

He would offer a careless smile, an ill-timed joke, and an awkward hug that he would not lean in to. No matter that instinct was screaming at him to return the embrace for all he was worth, because it might be the last time - such a pathetic excuse for a farewell after all they had been through together. _Pathetic_.

He wasn’t going to cry.

“See you soon.”

Shiro rubbed a steady hand down Keith’s forearm with reassuring ease, shaking his head fondly as though he thought Keith was being silly. And Keith almost believed him.

His dark eyes were warm and confident, a smile quirking at the corners of his lips as he released the younger boy and readied himself to board the ship.

“Yeah.” Keith raised a hand, watching as Shiro ascended the ramp and disappeared from his view. The familiar warmth of their embrace lingered as the ship launched into stars and space that he could not follow.

“Bye, Shiro.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith isn't fit for duty.

“He is not fit for duty,” Kolivan said, dark eyes glimmering with poorly disguised concern.

Shiro glanced at the boy tucked against Kolivan’s side, his limbs practically useless, dangling in the leader’s secure grip.

“What the hell happened?” Shiro growled, feral and dangerous, his protective instincts flaring at the sight of his friend’s unresponsive state. “What’s wrong with him?” Ignoring propriety, Shiro stepped forward, hands roving over Keith’s face, his arms and waist, assessing potential physical damage. He paused, fingers hovering over Keith’s skin, frowning at the heat emanating from the boy. Keith gave a soft groan, shifting uncomfortably as he sagged in Kolivan’s arms.

“I — I do not know,” Kolivan admitted, features wrinkling with an uncharacteristic surge of self-doubt. His gaze flickered briefly towards Keith, lips pursing as though he were sucking the inside of his cheek; a nervous gesture, Shiro realized. “During the mission he was weakened, disoriented. On the flight back to base he began expelling…fluids. He was delirious,” the Galra leader finished uncertainly. “He said he wanted to go home. These symptoms are beyond my skill-set. Forgive me, I did not know where else to bring him—”

“No,” Shiro interrupted, calmer this time. “You were right to bring him here. He’s sick. He needs medical attention.”

“He…he did not know me,” Kolivan admitted, stoic solemnity disguising the confusion, the trace of fear he was obviously struggling to keep in check.

“Give him to me,” Shiro said quietly. Not a request, a command.

Kolivan hesitated for a moment before nodding, carefully depositing Keith into Shiro’s arms. Relieved of his burden, he stood awkwardly, uncertain of what to do next.

“I’ll take it from here,” Shiro assured him, settling Keith against his hip. “Coran will keep you updated on his progress.”

Kolivan nodded curtly, still unconvinced. “See that he does.”

Keith began fussing, head lolling restlessly against his chest, and Shiro didn’t wait to escort the Marmora leader back to his ship. He swiveled, coaxing Keith forward with him. Keith made a small sound, something caught between a wet cough and a murmured protest.

“Shh,” Shiro shushed him, squeezing the clammy hand clutching at the front of his uniform, “I’ve got you. You’re all right.”

“Wha’ — what’re you —“ Keith choked, cutting himself off with a harsh cough. He doubled over, eyes clenched shut as he struggled through the fit. Shiro gripped his upper arms, supporting the smaller boy through the convulsions. When he was finally able to come up for air, Keith was swaying on his feet, features sallow and glistening with sweat.

“Easy,” Shiro coached, placing a palm against the center of Keith’s too-warm back. “Take your time. Slow breaths.”

Keith hummed his understanding, ducking his head in an effort to compose himself. His throat bobbed with a few laborious swallows, each one going down thicker than the last.

“Keith?” Shiro patted the other boy’s chest, a reassuring gesture for both of them. “You with me?”

Keith’s head jerked upright, pupils blown wide from the raging fever, searching sluggishly for the source of Shiro’s voice. “Shiro? You — you’re here?” His words were slurred, garbled around an uncooperative tongue. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shiro said, smiling through the frustrating quiver in his voice. “You’re awake. It’s…it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Keith acknowledged, swallowing hard. “Where — where’re we goin’?”

“You’re going back to your bunk,” Shiro replied, tightening his grip. “And you aren’t coming out for a week, so I hope you brought your Nintendo.”

Keith blinked, eyebrows crinkling in confusion. “Nobody uses Nintendo’s anymore, Shiro. What —“

“Never mind,” Shiro interrupted. “The point is you’re running on empty. You need to recuperate. Time to heal.” Shiro swallowed, adjusting his arm around Keith’s waist. “You’re staying here for a while.” No other alternative.

“I can’t,” Keith whispered, drooping in Shiro’s grasp. “I have — obligations. I have — _oh_ …” he trailed off, muscles going slack.

“Keith?”

His skin had drained to a nasty gray, eyelids fluttering as though he were one the verge of passing out. Shiro halted, one hand braced against Keith’s chest to hold him upright.

“I — I need to sit down,” Keith slurred, throat working frantically. He let go of Shiro, collapsing to his knees. Shiro dropped down with him. Keith’s back arched as a heave rippled through his spine, rivulets of sweat dripping languidly between the crevices of exposed skin.

“Okay,” Shiro said, placing a hand between Keith’s shoulder blades. “Okay.” He tried a few slow rubs. That was supposed to be comforting, right? Helpful.

Keith belched, the noise thick and wet, coaxing up a gush of rancid liquid that splattered unceremoniously between their hands and feet.

“‘M sorry,” Keith coughed before spitting up another watery mouthful. He staggered, tripping over his feet as he rose to steady himself. “I don’…there’s something wrong with me.”

Shiro steadied the younger boy, easing him upright. “You’re sick,” he said. “You need to sleep.”

“I’ll be all right,” Keith insisted, stumbling against the wall in an effort to hold his own weight. He stayed there for a while, panting, eyes slipping shut in increasingly frequent intervals. “I’m fine.”

“I know,” Shiro said, gulping around the lump lodging stubbornly in his throat. “I know you are.” He cupped Keith’s hot forehead, purposefully lingering to let the other boy catch his breath.

Keith lurched forward and burped, little more than stomach bile spilling past his lips. He groaned and spit, saliva dangling from his bottom lip as he slid back down to a crouch.

Shiro knelt beside him, using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe Keith’s mouth. He didn’t say anything.

“Fine,” Keith coughed, swaying over Shiro’s shoulder. “I’ll go to bed.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith deals with the aftermath of Shiro's disappearance. Hunk is the real MVP.

There’s a weight crushing his chest, hot and thick and cloying like smog. He struggles to breathe past it, oxygen clogging in his lungs with every choked inhale.

His throbbing head lolls against the chilly floor, too woozy to try and lift it up. A tingling shiver starts at the base of his spine and travels up in one convulsive, rolling shudder. His stomach squirms, protesting the jarring movement as he wraps his arms a little tighter around himself, curling his limbs into a ball. His body feels like it’s been turned into a gigantic block of solid ice.

He needs to get up. Needs to get dressed and go outside. They’ll wonder where he is, soon. Probably come looking for him. Won’t they? Will they care?

He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying on the bathroom floor, doesn’t even remember stumbling out of bed. An hour, maybe? At any rate, he’s wallowed long enough. If he can’t accomplish the simple task of getting his body under control how the hell is he supposed to be the leader of jack-shit?

There’s that word again. It’s been tumbling around the recesses of his mind for weeks now. Always present, taunting him with its inevitability. He needs Shiro. Needs to ask him what to do.

But of course that’s impossible, isn’t it?

Three goddamn weeks and he’s still struggling to wrap his mind around their new reality. This nightmare he can’t seem to wake from.

He slams his fist against the tile, frustrated tears trickling down his cheeks as he hauls his uncooperative limbs into a sitting position. He sways as the floor tilts beneath him, but he refuses to fall. He blinks away the tears and inhales a deep, shuddering breath. Good. Making progress.

Then his lungs sputter, choking on the oxygen and he clutches at his throat, coughing and wheezing and hacking up a mouthful of something that makes him gag. He groans aloud, swiping the back of his hand beneath his leaking nose. He doesn’t have time for this bullshit.

Gritting his teeth, he reaches up to grip the edge of the metal sink; forcing his legs underneath him takes far more effort than it ought to. It’s slow going but eventually he’s hovering over the basin, weak but finally upright.

His fingers tremble as he cups a handful of water; the droplets turn lukewarm the moment they touch his skin. His reflection wavers in the small mirror, gray and distorted; fleeting because he ducks his head and shuts his eyes tight so he doesn’t have to look.

The anger resurfaces; coiling low in the pit of his stomach and working its way up until his vision flickers blood-red. It’s familiar; comforting in a twisted way. He needs the rage. Needs it to push himself forward like he needs the air in his lungs. He braces his weight against the wall, panting through another surge of dizziness.

He’s thirsty. He wants to go back to the faucet for a drink but the claustrophobia is waiting for him. The kitchen, then. No mirrors in there.

He’s standing in the middle of the mess-hall, uncertain of how he made it downstairs. He can feel a bruise forming just below his kneecap but can’t remember when he fell. He doesn’t bother trying to find a cup. Instead, he staggers over to the sink, fumbling blindly with the handle and dipping his head to gulp down mouthfuls of the icy water. The liquid splashes all over his face, down his chest and onto the floor. He doesn’t care, just keeps lapping at the stream until he can’t hold anymore.

“Keith?”

He jumps at the unexpected voice, wincing as a light switches on. He spins around and straightens, ignoring the nauseating shimmer of the walls surrounding him, making it difficult to keep his balance. He’d been freezing only moments ago; now his clothes feel damp and clammy with sweat.

“What are you doing up so early?” Hunk is still in his pajama pants and robe; hair disheveled and sticking up in all the wrong directions. He gives Keith an odd look, reaching up to rub his eye with the heel of his hand.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Keith rasps, feeling an uncomfortable tickle crawl up the back of his throat. He coughs in his mouth a few times, as quietly as possible.

“You too, huh?” Hunk offers a sympathetic smile and starts digging through a cabinet, producing a tin can. “I was gonna make some tea.”

It’s an obvious invitation but Keith is barely paying attention. It’s a little difficult to hear through the high-pitched buzzing in his ears and the gurgling in his stomach. The water isn’t settling; in hindsight, maybe he should have gulped a little slower.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Hunk suggests, eyes narrowing with obvious concern. He’s frowning, now.

“We’re scheduled for training in an hour,” Keith murmurs, throat bobbing with a few convulsive swallows. “I don’…don’t have time for tea.” For some reason that strikes him as funny and he lets out a snort of laughter.

Keith doesn’t think he can even make it to the chair. The room’s spinning too fast to move away from the sink, anyway. He feels himself tilting forward, watches as the floor rushes up to meet him and then a pair of strong arms hauling him back up just before he smashes his face open.

“Keith,” Hunk says right next to his ear; his voice is low and gentle. “Come sit down.”

And he really doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

Hunk helps him over to one of the chairs and Keith immediately slumps over the table, pillowing his head in his arms.

“I don’t think training’s on the agenda for you this morning. You look like hell.”

“Jus’ a cold,” Keith slurs, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I’ll be fine.” He means it, too. He has every intention of powering through what promises to be a grueling morning.

Hunk crouches down beside his chair. Keith watches with vague curiosity as Hunk rests one hand on his back and the other brushes underneath Keith’s bangs. Hunk’s large hand feels cool against his forehead. Even so, Keith feels the need to shrug Hunk off before he gets too comfortable up there.

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s definitely more than a cold,” Hunk obligingly pulls his hand away from his forehead but lets the other hover over Keith’s back. Keith coughs into his crossed arms and feels Hunk’s hand stroke up and down a few times. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

“So this is why you didn’t show up at dinner, huh? You’ve been feeling lousy since last night?”

“I was tired,” Keith insists. It’s harder to focus.

“You’re sick. I mean, you’re practically cooking in your own skin, dude,” Hunk rises from his crouch and crosses his arms.

“Jus’ need to sleep it off,” Keith insists, pushing up from the table. His stomach lurches with the unexpected movement and he muffles a wet hiccup into his fist. “You can’t tell the others.”

“Keith,” Hunk sits down beside him. He runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs. When he glances back, his eyes are unnervingly intense; full of a profound sadness that Keith recognizes as buried grief. “It’s okay. No one’s going to think any less of you because you need to take a day off. You don’t have to prove anything to us. You know that, right?”

The gentle sincerity, the goddamn earnestness makes Keith want to scream. He raises his head, swallows hard and glares back, fists vibrating against the table.

“I have _everything_ to prove,” he growls, gripping the edges of the metal, trying to hold on to his reeling world.

Hunk shakes his head, resting his chin in his hands. He’s quiet for a long moment.

“You know who you sound like,” he says quietly, a fond smile forming at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t,” Keith spits, shaking with fury. But the damage has been done. “Don’t talk about him like he’s…like -”

Keith slaps a hand over his mouth, shoving away from the table and tripping over his own feet in his haste to make it to the sink. His shoulders roll with a deep gag and all at once the water comes gushing back up, splattering violently into the metallic basin. He retches a few more times but there isn’t anything left to throw up. He must’ve emptied out his stomach when he first woke up. He doesn’t remember doing that, either.

Keith coughs and spits, resenting the tears that manage to slip free. Suddenly, he realizes he’s no longer holding his own weight. Hunk has one arm wrapped around his waist, the other supports Keith’s back as his body shudders through the aftershock and he struggles to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Hunk whispers when Keith’s calmed down a bit. He sounds devastated. “I didn’t mean for -“

“Don’t. Please,” Keith pants, slumping against the broad chest. “It’s not your fault. ‘M just…really fucked up right now. Everything’s so f-fucked up.”

He doesn’t mean for his words to get tangled in a choked sob but Hunk immediately pulls him close, hugging him from behind and holding him steady. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

After a few minutes, Keith wipes viciously at his bleary eyes and hangs his head. Hunk peers down, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles against Keith’s shoulder, silently asking if he’s all right; if he’s ready.

“Don’t tell Lance,” Keith hiccups, finally glancing up. “I think I’d have to abandon ship.”

Hunk smiles softly, readjusting his grip around Keith’s waist and easing the sick boy’s arm over his own shoulders.

“Yeah, you’re definitely getting funnier.”

“Not kidding,” Keith slurs, feeling himself being lifted up as if he weighs nothing at all. That’s strange because his head feels so heavy he’s afraid it might just roll right off his shoulders. He thinks maybe he passed out since one minute they’re in the kitchen and the next Hunk’s easing him down into bed, tucking his aching body into the warm blankets.

“You don’t need to prove anything right now, Keith,” Hunk’s voice is surprisingly soothing, fingers brushing lightly through the damp strands of Keith’s hair. “Just sleep. We can handle things for a while.”

Once again, Keith doesn’t have a choice in the matter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance have a contest. Shiro deals with the aftermath.

Keith shifted, breaking the silence as his stomach emitted another queasy gurgle.

Shiro’s fingers paused, his forefinger still tangled in a lock of the dark hair.

“You know this is your own fault, right?”

Keith moaned, hiding his face against Shiro’s thigh. The older boy chuckled and resumed the head massage.

“Fuck,” Keith growled. “I know. I’m an idiot, all right?”

“You could’ve said no,” Shiro helpfully pointed out, amused.

Keith reached down between where his body was pressed against the bed and palmed his stomach. A burp jolted up into the back of his throat and he hurriedly clamped his mouth shut.

“You know Lance,” Keith mumbled bitterly. “He doesn’t take no for an answer. He just annoys the shit out of you until you can’t think about anything except shutting him up and damn the consequences.”

“It’s a unique talent,” Shiro agreed, grin replaced by a frown when Keith made a small choking noise. “You all right down there?”

Shiro stopped scrolling through the pad and glanced down at the boy currently using his lap as a pillow. He heard Keith swallow, obviously struggling against his body’s urge to relieve some of the discomfort.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Keith moaned, pressing his face harder against Shiro’s leg. His words were muffled. “I hope Lance is having the worst time.”

Shiro pet a wild strand of hair back into place, then moved down to rub gently against Keith’s nape.

“I hope he spends all night just…suffering.”

“Well, if he ate anything even close to the amount you shoveled down, he’s gonna be feeling it,” Shiro confirmed; the grin was back.

Keith mumbled something else but Shiro couldn’t understand him beyond the blockade of fabric.

“Try again?”

Keith pushed up on his elbows and blinked down at Shiro’s lap, “I’m glad you think this is funny.” He swallowed carefully and concentrated on taking a few deep breaths.

“I was never one to stand in the way of entropy,” Shiro teased, twining his fingers back up through Keith’s hair.

Keith shivered slightly and closed his eyes, sighing, “I thought you were supposed to be the voice of reason. Stop us from doing stupid shit like - _ulp_ \- eating ourselves stupid just to prove a point.” His stomach let out another angry grumble at the memory.

What had started as a joke had quickly escalated into a heated battle for supremacy. Keith couldn’t remember over what, exactly. But he and Lance had apparently deemed it worthy enough to stuff themselves with the spongy green crap. The off-putting color should have been Keith’s first cue to bow out. Instead he’d plowed mindlessly through three gigantic bowls until he heard Lance gagging and calling for a truce.

“What was the point of this again?” Shiro’s fondness teetered between mild condescension and genuine curiosity.

“Bragging rights,” Keith gave a weak hiccup. “And I won. So Lance can suck it.”

Shiro heaved a long-suffering sigh, resisting the urge to shake his head. This probably wasn’t the time for a lecture. He’d save it for when the two idiots weren’t so green around the gills. He suspected Lance wasn’t fairing any better and hoped, at the very least, that he’d sought refuge with Hunk.

“He certainly riled you up,” Shiro mused. “Any particular reason it was so easy, tonight?”

“He’s a jackass?” Keith muttered as if it were the obvious answer.

“Be nice,” Shiro flicked the back of Keith’s head.

“Ow! - _hic_ \- oh,” Keith reached up to rub the sore spot, pausing midway as a much wetter hiccup jumped into his chest.

“Keith?” Shiro apologized by rubbing his thumb over Keith’s knuckles.

“Shit,” Keith’s cheeks inflated as something gurgled up. It took a few hard swallows to push it back down.

“Quit holding them in,” Shiro frowned. “It’ll only make your stomach feel worse.”

Keith shook is head and rocked forward, suppressing another rumbling belch. He cupped a hand over his mouth just in time to let it out.

“ _Oh_ ,” he groaned, most of the color draining from his face. “I don’t feel good.”

“I know,” Shiro winced sympathetically as he slid his hand further down to Keith’s upset belly. He could feel the contents churning and sloshing beneath his palm as he began kneading gentle circles over the heated skin.

“Sh-Shiro,” Keith panted weakly, suddenly pushing up from his lap and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He leaned forward, perched over the edge while his fingers dug into his knees. Shiro watched the boy’s throat work convulsively as a shudder ran through is muscles.

“Hey,” Shiro soothed, scooting up behind him. He reached out to place a hand against Keith’s back.

“Think I’m — ‘m gonna throw up,” Keith slurred, voice thick with nausea.

“Easy,” Shiro coached, looping his natural arm around Keith’s chest. “Take a few breaths through your nose. You’re all right.”

Keith tried to follow the instruction, but midway through his first shaky inhale, he choked. His shoulders rolled with a belching gag that sent him heaving into his hand.

“Okay, bathroom,” Shiro leapt off the mattress and tugged Keith upright, concern and the threat of a mess all over the bed making his voice sound a little harsher than he intended.

“Oh, no,” Keith gagged, swaying unsteadily as his stomach whined, protesting the abrupt movement. He shoved out of Shiro’s grasp and stumbled the few steps to the small bathroom. “Don’t come in here.”

Before he could say anything the door whooshed shut and Shiro was left standing outside. The harsh sounds of violent retching met his ears and he cringed, wanting desperately to make himself useful.

“Keith?” Shiro knocked softly on the door. No answer. “I’m gonna grab a few water packets, okay?”

A sharp belch followed by coughing and then, “Kill Lance for me while you’re at it.”

Shiro scratched the back of his head, trying to maintain his empathy for the situation.

“I’ll be right back.”

The idiocy he endured for this team…


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is drunk. Hunk and Lance don't really know what to do.

“Hunk,” Lance whined, flinging his arms in aggravation. “I give up. I open my mouth, he calls me a dipshit. I tell him to go to bed, he takes a swing at my face! And the last one _barely_ missed!”

“How much has he had?” Hunk asked dubiously.

“I lost track after he started humming the Knight Rider theme,” Lance deadpanned, obviously of the opinion that the song was the most offensive melody in the galaxy.

“Oh, boy,” Hunk cringed, swiping a hand over his face.

“Um, yeah,” Lance snipped, hands perched on his hips as he followed Hunk’s gaze. “I don’t even think he recognizes me. Keeps calling me Kashi, whatever the hell that means.”

Hunk froze, eyes narrowing as he fixed Lance with a trepidatious glare. “Wait. You mean like…Takashi?”

Lance’s eyes widened with the realization.

“Oh, shit,” both boys mimicked in despairing unison.

“I — crap, I forgot,” Lance stammered, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I got so used to ‘Shiro’ and I guess I just…didn’t remember. Shit.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t either,” Hunk offered Lance a sad smile, nudging his shoulder. “Not until you mentioned it.”

“At first I thought he was making fun of me,” Lance muttered. “But he just looked freaked out when I called him Mullet. I should’ve known. It’s just — it’s Keith, you know? He’s like the last person I was expecting to have to babysit. Usually it’s the other way around.”

“Well, it’s too late now,” Hunk sighed as they watched Keith topple off the stool and crash ass-first onto the floor, taking a tray of neon-purple shots down with him.

The other bar patrons were neither surprised nor fazed by the disruption, seeing as how most of them were just as intoxicated. No one even seemed to notice as Keith sprawled on the floor, laughing at nothing in particular.

“This was a bad idea,” Lance sighed, rushing over to help Keith up. Hunk shot him an unamused scowl at the unnecessary comment.

“All right, here we go,” Hunk looped his arms underneath Keith’s armpits and hoisted him into a sitting position. The boy giggled, nose mushing against Lance’s shoulder as he slumped forward.

Lance couldn’t help but smirk at the whole ridiculous situation as he patted between Keith’s shoulder blades. “How you feelin’, buddy?”

Keith’s back jolted with muffled hiccup as he did his best to lift his head. “Hey,” he slurred, lips quirking as he poked a finger at Lance’s chest. “You’re that guy.”

“Yep,” Lance smiled. “Still here.”

“The guy that was tryin’ to get me into bed!” Keith glared, chest jumping with another indignant sounding hiccup.

“Whoa, yeah, definitely not like that.” Lance pulled away, holding the other boy at arms length as Hunk disguised a snort behind his hand. “I was just trying to make sure you got to bed without breaking your neck. Excuse me for caring, jackass.”

“Hey, be nice,” Hunk chastised, reaching out to rub Keith’s back. “I’d be upset if some random dude was harassing me, too.”

Lance promptly landed a solid punch against Hunk’s bicep. “You’re not helping!”

Keith’s head swiveled to the larger boy and his flushed face lit up with an uncharacteristically excited smile as he exclaimed, “Hunk! Hey, man, where’ve you — _hic_! — been?” Keith awkwardly scooted over to wrap his arms around a startled Hunk’s shoulders in a sloppy embrace.

“Okay,” Lance interjected, voice pitched with annoyance. “That’s not even fair! How come he recognizes you, but _I’m_ a pervert?”

“I’m huggable?” Hunk gave an innocent shrug, immediately wrapping his arms around Keith to steady him. “Sorry, dude. I don’t make the rules.”

“My pants are wet,” Keith pouted, glowering at the sticky puddle of alien booze soaking into his trousers.

“Yeah, time for bed,” Hunk nodded to Lance, encouraging Keith to sit up as he looped the smaller boy’s arm around his neck and hauled him to his feet.

Keith swayed, sagging against Hunk’s side as he cupped a hand over his mouth, barely suppressing a wet sounding burp. He blinked up owlishly at the other two, seemingly surprised by his own outburst.

“You good?” Lance quirked a tentative eyebrow.

Keith swallowed, frowning down at his boots. He gave a slow nod, features pale and eyes dazed, then abruptly shook his head as his shoulders jerked with a silent heave and he doubled over.

“Quiznak, Hunk, hold him up!” Lance screeched, quickly bouncing out of the line of fire.

Hunk gripped the other boy’s shoulders as Keith drooped over his knees and retched, a waterfall of disturbingly bright-colored liquid spilling past his lips. Keith shuddered, coughing harshly before belching up a second flood of the stuff. He sagged in Hunk’s hold, panting and drooling over the substantial mess pooling at their feet.

“At least the floor was already wet?” Lance shrugged sheepishly.

“Jeez, that’s a lot of…” Hunk trailed off, looking green as he turned his head away and made a valiant effort to breathe through his mouth. “Okay, definitely time to go.”

Hunk hauled Keith back to his feet, dragging him away from the bar while Lance followed behind them, apologizing to the other patrons as they made their escape.

“I’ll say one thing for you, Mullet,” Lance laughed once they’d made it back to their temporary quarters. “You don’t do anything half-assed.”

Keith groaned miserably as he collapsed on one of the cots, cradling his head in his hands. He jolted with a residual hiccup, swaying precariously over his lap. Hunk knelt down to steady him, resting a large hand against the other boy’s back. Lance retrieved a trashcan and placed it within easy reach.

“Maybe you should lie down,” Hunk suggested gently, rubbing a few circles. “Sleep it off, huh?”

“You don’ have to stay with me,” Keith slurred, eyes closed and words verging on unintelligible. But Hunk certainly caught the last bit. “‘M fine, Kashi.”

Hunk peered up uncomfortably at Lance, awkward tension palpable in the small room. Lance’s face immediately fell and he shook his head, reaching up to scrub the back of his neck.

Keith’s smile disintegrated as he opened his eyes, staring at Hunk as if he didn’t want to believe who was crouching in front of him. Hunk felt a surge of panic as he realized that Keith’s eyes were wet, breaths hitching softly and chin dimpling as it wobbled under the threat of tears.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Hunk whispered, desperate to fix whatever he’d done. “Keith, it’s all right. I’m sorry he’s not here, but we are. We’re here for you, man.”

Keith swallowed thickly, eyes once again slipping shut as he murmured,”Yeah. He’s gone…again. I — I forgot.” His lips twitched into a poor imitation of a smile. “Can’t ever just stay in one goddamn place.” His words bled with bitter despair and Hunk felt a painful ache clenching inside his own chest, reminded of their irreplaceable loss.

“Shit,” Lance swore behind them, voice shaky as he struggled to rein back his own tears. He sniffed, swiping a hand over his face before sitting down beside Keith. He wrapped an arm around the other boy’s shoulders, resting a few inches above Hunk’s hand. “I know you hate touching,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “But sometimes people need a little human contact, Keith. It keeps them sane. Well, me, anyway.”

Hunk nodded in agreement. “Actually, that’s more like a crucial necessity for me,” he offered, lips twitching with a self-deprecating smile. “But, um, you guys already knew that.”

Keith reached up to wipe his running nose with the sleeve of his jacket. He turned to Lance, expression softening as his head dropped unceremoniously against the other boy’s shoulder. “I don’ hate you. I’m not very good at — _ulp_ — being nice. I know I say stupid shit. But I don’t hate you, Lance.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Lance chuckled, rubbing his hand soothingly down the other boy’s arm. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he teased. Keith shivered and Lance frowned back at Hunk, concern spiking. “Keith, you want some water?”

Keith shook his head, cheeks inflating with a breathy burp as he leaned over his knees. “Think — ‘m gonna be sick,” he slurred thickly, dark hair falling in a wild mess over his face.

Lance hurriedly gathered the unruly locks back into an impromptu ponytail as Keith began gagging over the trashcan. Hunk positioned the container underneath the boy’s chin, wincing as a splash of liquid splattered against the metal sides. Keith moaned, nearly choking as he spit up another mouthful.

Lance patted his back, resigned to the fact that no one would be getting much sleep that evening. “That’s it, get it up,” he encouraged wearily. “We are never letting him drink again,” he hissed at Hunk.

Keith finally pulled his head out of the trashcan and promptly slumped into Lance’s lap. “Thanks, guys,” he mumbled into Lance’s thigh. “Wouldn’t be here without you.”

Lance stubbornly chose to ignore the implications of what that meant, and gently nudged Keith over to the cot, turning him onto his side - just in case. The other boy was already snoring as he nuzzled into the pillow.

“On the bright side, he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning,” Hunk whispered, carefully brushing Keith’s damp bangs out of his eyes.

Lance wasn’t so sure. But one thing was for certain, Keith was going to be pissed when he woke up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of a Tumblr prompt. Shiro wears himself down taking care of a very ill Keith.

Shiro was drifting, deliciously numb as he floated in the weightless void just before sleep tipped over into dreams.

The warm body pressed up against his side felt nice. The weight was comforting while the warmth coaxed his own body to relax and release, surrendering for just a little while.

Then the body squirmed, groaned, and the spell slipped away. The blankets shifted, and suddenly the warmth was gone, leaving Shiro’s naked chest exposed to the indifferent chill of early morning. There was a small, strained noise, a soft exhalation of labored breath, then the sound of something wet slapping against metal.

Shiro felt fruitlessly over the mattress, limbs still heavy with sleep but his mind instantly alert with worry.

“Keith?” He slurred, jamming his thumb and forefinger into gritty eyes and rubbing until he saw little explosions of red. Shiro sat up, bowing over his lap for a moment while he gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust.

Keith was sitting up, hunched over a small metal bin that he held in place with his knees. His forehead dug into the rim while he rested, trying to catch his breath, mouth hanging open in anticipation as he drooled into the can.

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro clicked his tongue sympathetically, scooting up behind him and settling his flesh hand between Keith’s shoulder blades. The taut muscles shuddered beneath Shiro’s fingers, tensing and releasing as the sickness surged and ebbed. “All right,” Shiro soothed, tracing his fingers in a gentle rhythm down Keith’s spine. “You’re all right.”

Keith shook his head, sweaty hair plastering his face and neck as he rode out the fresh wave of nausea. Shiro felt his shoulders roll forward, back arching painfully as he retched unproductively into the bin.

“Fuck,” Keith gasped, breathless and trembling.

“Easy,” Shiro answered, pressing his forehead against Keith’s shoulder. Solid, comforting, just like Keith had been for him only minutes before, helping to keep the dreams at bay. “Breathe when you can.”

Keith tensed and shivered, then his shoulders sagged as he let go of a long, wet belch, his body seeking relief wherever he could get it. He’d stopped indulging in embarrassment a long time ago. Another mouthful of bile dribbled from his lips without requiring any effort on his part, his stomach scraping out the dregs. His toes curled over the edge of the mattress, seeking purchase as he coughed up the remnants.

“ _Shh_ ,” Shiro soothed sleepily, nose brushing Keith’s nape. They’d developed a sort of pattern after Keith first fell ill over a day ago. Shiro instinctively knew when to offer contact, and when his touch was overstimulating. Keith would seek him out after it was over, only rolling away in his sleep when he got too hot.

“You’re empty,” Shiro murmured. “Try a few breaths with me.” He inhaled, slow and deep, pressing his chest against Keith’s back to encourage him.

Keith swallowed thickly, nodded and inhaled a shaky breath through his nose, held it for a second with Shiro, then released it.

“Good,” Shiro praised, lips brushing softly against Keith’s shoulder as he reached up to coax the damp bangs out of his eyes. “You’re doing good.”

Keith exhaled with a congested grunt, sniffed experimentally and finally slumped back against Shiro. “…’s sucks,” he croaked, voice wrecked from the bout of vomiting.

“I know,” Shiro sighed, pressing another kiss into Keith’s greasy hair. “I’m sorry.”

Keith groaned softly, curling into Shiro despite the uncomfortable heat. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he murmured, already half-asleep, “— gonna get sick….”

Shiro ignored the familiar protest and nudged Keith off his chest, sitting him up and guiding a straw to his lips. “Here. Slow sips.”

Keith didn’t even bother opening his eyes, but his lips instinctively wrapped around the straw and he sucked greedily, swallowing the water in deep gulps, moaning in relief as the cool water soothed his ravaged throat.

“I said _slow_ ,” Shiro chastised, but didn’t have the heart to pull the straw away until Keith was finished. He had refused to drink the last couple of times Shiro had offered, so he would take advantage of this sudden craving.

Keith’s lips slid off the straw with a wet smack and he melted back into Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro felt a warm puff against his neck followed by a muffled apology as Keith belched up the air he’d swallowed. He winced at the uncertain gurgle while Keith’s stomach decided whether it was going to accept the water.

“Okay?” Shiro asked, rubbing slowly down Keith’s back.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Keith hummed, slumping heavily as the last vestiges of his fortitude succumbed to exhaustion.

Shiro lay him back down, slipping out from underneath his too warm body and pulling the covers back over his shoulders. Keith immediately curled up into a ball and nuzzled against Shiro’s side, shivering against the fever chill.

“I’ll be right back,” Shiro whispered, petting Keith’s hair out of his face. “Be nice to the sheets, please.”

Keith made a grumpy noise and buried his face deeper into the pillow. Shiro’s lips quirked a little at Keith’s innate disgruntlement, even when he was sick as a dog.

He leaned down to pick up the bin and nearly tipped over onto the floor, caught off guard by an unexpected rush of dizziness. Shiro steadied himself on the edge of the mattress, frowning at the twinge of discomfort coiling low in the pit of his stomach.

_Shit_.

He shook it off, telling himself he was just exhausted. He couldn’t have slept more than four hours over the past day and a half. This thing had hit Keith hard and fast and it had scared Shiro, taking precedence over everything else. The universe could wait. Keith would not. Not while Shiro had a say.

He swallowed against the lingering vertigo and shuffled quietly outside with the bin. Shiro was so out of it that he nearly plowed right into Hunk as he rounded the corner on his way to the bathroom. He quickly backpedaled, putting a few feet of distance between them. It was an unnecessary precaution. Coran and Shiro had agreed that the rest of the paladins should be suited up with helmets engaged when venturing anywhere outside of their own quarters for the duration of Keith’s illness. Practical in theory, a little ridiculous in execution, Shiro was realizing.

“Hey,” Hunk greeted him, looking somber as he eyed the bin with a wrinkled nose. “How is he?”

“The same,” Shiro sighed, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was shirtless and bedraggled. He reached up to smooth back his hair.

“So kind of a wreck,” Hunk’s shoulders deflated and he reached up to rub nervously at the back of his neck. “Did the kona root help at all?”

Shiro shrugged. He was too tired to offer a more convincing reassurance. “He kept it down for a little while, yeah.” He nodded at the bin balanced on his hip. “I’ve gotta go rinse this out. How’s everyone else?”

“So far so good. Hopefully the quarantine works since you guys were the only ones that came into contact with that stupid planet. Good news is Coran said it’s really unusual for the bug to last more than forty-eight vargas.” Hunk gave Shiro a once over. “How are you holding up?”

Shiro felt himself shrinking under Hunk’s scrutinizing gaze. He swallowed. It was a little more difficult now, his throat felt strangely full. He nodded and gave Hunk what he hoped passed for a smile.

“I’m good,” he said. When Hunk raised a suspicious eyebrow, he quickly added, “—just tired. This thing is really kicking his ass. He sleeps off an on for maybe an hour before it starts again.”

Hunk frowned, thick brows creased with worry. “You should let Coran take over. You need sleep if you wanna stay healthy, Shiro.”

“I’ll be fine,” Shiro assuaged. “Keep me posted on the others.” He forced another smile and trudged in the direction of the washroom without waiting for an answer.

Keith was sitting up in bed when Shiro made it back to their room. He was dabbing ineffectively at his chest with the rumpled sheet. He’d thrown up down his front, the water he’d tried to drink now soaking into the bedsheets nesting between his legs.

His head jerked up when he heard Shiro approaching, a stringy tendril of saliva still clinging haphazardly to his chin, glazed eyes wet and bloodshot.

“…’m sorry,” he slurred, voice cracking through the threat of tears.

Shiro sat down beside him, placing a hand over Keith’s clumsy attempts to clean himself up. Shiro balled up a clean portion of the sheet and wiped Keith’s mouth. “Don’t be,” he said. “You couldn’t help it. Feel like you’re finished?”

“The sheets —“ Keith moaned, chest jolting with a queasy hiccup.

“Can be changed,” Shiro assured, smiling softly as he tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind Keith’s ear. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Shiro retrieved the wash cloth resting on the nightstand and finished cleaning the rest of the mess off Keith’s chest. Keith shivered, but didn’t say anything else, eyelids already drooping.

“Lie back,” Shiro instructed, cupping his hand around the back of Keith’s neck to guide him down. The sheets reeked of stomach acid, and the bitter scent cloyed thickly at the back of Shiro’s throat. He swallowed hard, steeling himself against another rush of dizziness. He gathered up the top sheet and balled it onto the floor to deal with later.

Keith’s teeth chattered as he curled a hand in the loose fabric of Shiro’s sleep pants, fingers clenching, instinctively seeking comfort.

But Shiro wasn’t in the mood. He was exhausted and the smell was making him nauseous, and his head was fucking throbbing. He gently pried Keith off and picked up the soiled sheet, desperate to get out of the room for just a few minutes, clear his head and breath some fresh air.

“Shiro?” Keith asked, bleary eyes searching the darkness.

“Just a minute,” Shiro managed, fighting back the urge to gag as sourness flooded over his tongue.

He tripped over his feet as he stumbled outside, slammed the keypad to shut the door and slumped against the wall, chest heaving in shallow breaths.

“Shiro?”

Hunk was standing a few feet away, cradling a small pot in both hands.

Maybe it was the proximity to the food, or the meaty smell of broth, or the simple fact that Shiro had been denying how awful he felt for hours now, but _something_ in that moment sent him over the edge.

Shiro gulped, clammy warmth spreading down his back and soaking his forehead in sweat. He shuddered, clenching his jaw against a powerful retch that rippled up from his diaphragm and sent him doubling over his knees. He was vaguely aware of Hunk taking a startled step away from him, and didn’t blame him in the slightest.

Shiro choked on a mouthful of stomach acid, spitting it up onto the sheet he was clutching with a white-knuckled grip. The first wave spilled out of him before he had a chance to get a grip on his reflexes. He managed to catch most of it in the sheet, dropping to his knees as his gut contracted relentlessly, forcing up everything on his stomach in painful, uncontrollable surges of humiliation.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaky and hesitant, but still very real and solid. Shiro felt his nose running, and his eyes stung with stress-tears. When he reached up to wipe them away, more wet dripped down his jaw, and Shiro realized that it was no use. His body was determined to wring out every ounce of fluid, with or without his consent.

A thick belch rolled out with a watery slurry of saliva and Shiro tried to spit, swaying woozily over the mess he’d made all over the now hopeless sheets. He dry-heaved at the smell, swallowing desperately to prevent setting his stomach off again.

“So…” Hunk drawled nervously, hand twitching back and forth between Shiro’s shoulder blades. “Not so fine, then, huh.”

Shiro coughed through another gag, shoulders heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Guess not,” Shiro grunted, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

Hunk just shook his head. “Do you need help getting back to bed?”

“No.” Shiro folded up the sheet and pushed up into a crouch, exhaling a slow breath through his nose before he pushed himself to his feet. He felt his face draining and the blood rushing to his head. The sick feeling swelled and Shiro slumped against the wall with a groan, waiting for the spinning to settle.

“Here,” Hunk said, taking the sheet from Shiro. “Go back to Keith. I’ll come check on you in a few minutes.”

“No,” Shiro pushed away from the wall, arm cradling his aching abdomen. “We can’t have anyone else catching whatever this is. Keith and I can ride it out. I’ll radio if we need anything.”

“I’ll have Coran come check on you, then,” Hunk countered, setting his shoulders stubbornly as he leaned down to retrieve the pot of soup. “Now go back to bed. Please.”

Shiro sighed, Hunk’s logic effectively snuffing out his willpower. He nodded and balanced his unsteady weight against the wall as he made his way back to their unofficial quarantine zone.

The sapphire tinged darkness was a welcome relief, and he collapsed into bed beside Keith, ignoring the lingering taste of sickness at the back of his throat. He really needed to brush his teeth, but the bed felt so nice. Warmth pressed up against his side and Shiro rolled over slightly, raising his arm so that Keith could shimmy underneath.

“Okay?” Keith asked, voice thick with sleep and muddled with congestion. His nose was buried in Shiro’s armpit, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Yeah,” Shiro whispered, pressing a kiss into Keith’s hair as he situated the both of them, praying his insides cooperated long enough to let him fall asleep.

Keith’s brow crinkled, then one eye cracked open and blinked up at Shiro, slow and calculating.

“Liar.”

“Hush,” Shiro murmured, the heavy weight of exhaustion already coaxing him down, his sluggish brain responding to the tantalizing suggestion of sleep.

“Such a bad liar,” Keith slurred, pressing closer, lips moving softly over the grooves of Shiro’s ribcage.

It should have tickled, but Shiro was already out.


End file.
